


Book One: Troll in The Dungeons

by Mother_Mountain



Series: The Wizarding World of Aggie and Gabe [Multi-Ending Saga] [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Also Ravenclaw but they're not important), (House Equality ftw), (jk ofc), Alternate Universe, Gen, Multi, Slytherin/Hufflepuff Point of View, [Multiple Ending Saga], switching POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-10-08 11:18:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17385497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_Mountain/pseuds/Mother_Mountain
Summary: A second year Hufflepuff, a first year Slytherin and a transfigured dragon walk into a Witchcraft and Wizardry school.Or, in other words, a fix-it retelling of the HP books in a thrilling(?)newsaga with the most underrated House Protagonists™.





	1. Of Dragons and Broken Windows

Sometimes, Timothy Tucker had to ask himself: Was there really such a thing as good luck to him?  
He didn't mean it to sound ungrateful, bitter or bitchy, per se. It's just that, sometimes, there would be an event (or, more often than not, a series of them) that would simply, for a lack of better wording, fuck him over.  
And it all started with that god forsaken wand.  
_What's the problem with a wand_ , one might ask. One might not know the impact one wand might have on someone's personal live in way too many levels.  
First things first, Tim was a warlock. A male witch, if you're unfamiliar with the term. You get it. That, therefore, means he's somewhat, if not entirely, dependant on a wand; a little wood stick that does magic. Except, as he discovered at the tender age of eleven, when he was still hopeful and young, his little wood stick wasn't really little. Or, y'know, something he'd want to own.  
As it turns out, his wand was made of elder wood. If you don't think that's a problem, you've probably been living under a rock ever since before Beetle the Bard- either that, or you're a Muggle. Anyway, long story short: elder wands were both extremely rare and profoundly unlucky, and him, in all of his very happy-go-lucky childish bliss, had been chosen by one. Probably the only one in the whole store, damnit. He wouldn't doubt it. It'd be just his luck.  
Hogwarts wasn't easy on him at all after that. The only other elder wand people had ever heard of had been directly responsible for many deaths, its owner's included, and it being fabricated by Death Itself gave it a  _little_  of bad rep- which, in turn, gave  _Tim_  a lot.  
Being a member of the Tuckers- a traditional, european, pure-blooded wizarding family- and getting sorted into not-Slytherin (Ravenclaw, if you're honestly interested) was already pretty bad as is, considering pretty much every other Tucker was a bit of a tosser to everyone else for generations, and were equally hated in return by all of the other three Houses.  
(Not that he had anything to do with that part of the family, really. Tim himself was a proud Texas Boy and a Half-Blood, but having the surname was the actual problem altogether.)  
So, Ravenclaw. Everyone hated him from the moment Professor Minerva McGonagall called "Tucker, Timothy" out loud, but after that stupid Sorting Hat said "You've got wits beyond measure, and your intelligence is your greatest treasure; you, sir, belong in RAVENCLAW!" was the exact moment Tim understood he was doomed.  
_"Wand of elder never prosper. Wand of elder never prosper. Wand of elder never prosper."_  
Tim wasn't particularly superstitious, but you've gotta draw the line somewhere.  
He managed to survive relatively unscathed until graduation, if you don't count Snape's Amortentia Accident, or Charlie's Whomping Willow Attack, or McGonagall's Kitty Issue, or the many, many, many times other students tried to coerce him into illegal duels. Etc.  
Then came... Working.  
Given his lack of qualifications for any job at all as a post-graduate, he was unemployed for a good couple of weeks. It was a devastating experience, really, considering how even his rather exceptional O.W.L's and N.E.W.T's couldn't land him an instant employment- though he supposed his wand must have something to do with it, indirectly. It was always the wand's fault.  
Mostly.  
Luck, for once in his life, shone upon him when his Lady and Saviour turned out to be Isla MacFusty herself.  
… You know, Isla MacFusty. The famous dragon researcher and activist?  
Isla MacFusty owned and managed the world's biggest Dragon Sanctuary to ever exist, in Romania. Her many thesis in reptilic and amphibian dragon eggs were Tim's main enjoyment throughout the entirety of those hellish weeks of unemployment. And then, Isla herself appeared before him, and before Timothy knew, he was working for her already.  
He was happier than he thought humanly possible.  
Fastforward three years. Isla dies. Horribly.  
It was a traumatic event, and Tim will never look at a dragon pox report the same way ever again, and Isla leaves behind a husband and an eight-year-old daughter. Peruvian Vipertooths are no longer his favourite.  
A year later, Charlie Weasley starts working with him, and that's good news, because if there's anyone he'd like to be there at that moment, it's Charlie. He needs Charlie to be able to counterbalance the shitstorm about to hit 'em, because the bad luck is back. Fuck his wand.  
(At that point he knows it isn't really the wand's fault, but like. It totally is.)  
Minor events follow suit, but he handles them same he handles the hyperactive, tiny preteen ball of energy that is Isla's daughter Agatha; with extreme inexperience and minor fright. It somehow works out just enough, thank God, and all in all, it was a bit like reliving his younger brother's earliest years again.  
Except with magic.  
And dragons.  
Oh God, _the dragons_. That's right. That's why he started dissociating to begin with.  
_Charlie wouldn't shut up about the dragons._  
"... And I also suppose it has something to do with how the Bloodhound Drakes can't really take strong smells, but Peepers refusing to bathe just because someone switched her normal scentless soap for a flowery one is a bit too much, right? Wouldn't you say so? Our other Drakes don't mind it... Tim?"  
Some three hours ago, Tim had had _plans_. He should've figured out a Weasley Gryffindor wouldn't much care for his hurry in the face of adversity, but his _poor plans_. They didn't deserve such a cruel, neglectful death. By them, they had been so thoroughly destroyed he wasn't even sure he could have an open casket burial to mourn their loss.  
Aaand Charlie was now waving his hand in front of his face. _Great_.  
"Will you please stop that, _Charles?_ ", he finally snapped, a major headache brewing. Charlie looked merely unimpressed.  
"I don't know, Timothy. Will you please tell me why the Drake you're responsible for hates flowery scents? I need to know if Peepers has had any reactions to it before."  
"No, she hasn't", Tim sighed, rubbing his temples annoyedly, "But how did you go from Western Silvertails' mating habits three hours ago to _this?_ "  
"Mate, I went from _your_ researching thesis to the dragon _you_ are responsible for. In _twenty minutes_. Were you paying attention at all, you dramatic wanker?"  
Tim gasped.  
"Oh, now _I'm_ dramatic? You cried when you thought Molly forgot your Christmas gift because the delivery owl was late!"  
"If you're gonna bring up Mum, how about that time you were jealous because you thought Theo was playing favourites with me just cause I was new to the job and going through employee training? Hm?"  
They stared each other down, Tim glaring daggers and Charlie... Being the nonchalant bastard he was. He even crossed his arms. The _audacity!_ He had half a mind to tear him a new one--  
That is, until they both heard a glass window break just above them.  
Agatha's glass window.  
Tim inhaled sharply before pointing a finger at Charlie's face.  
"We _will_ have this argument later. I'm putting it on hold, but you'll regret ever having said that. _Later._ "  
Tim turned around with all the flair he could muster to the sound of Charlie saying his dismissive "Yeah, mate, sure". He made a point in not turning around while flipping him off- he wouldn't give him the pleasure.  
Agatha messing around with glass panels in an environment chock-full of dragons was more urgent either way.


	2. Example #394 Why Children Should NOT Have Wands

Truthfully, Tim expected everything when he opened Agatha's door. He speculated wildly on the stairs on his way there, and mentally steeled himself for the worst-case scenarios. The very absolute worst, and that coming from a person put in the House that valued intelligence and creativity above all else.  
After all, it _was_ Isla's daughter they were talking about. Agatha, the conniving, creative, dangerously good at mimicking girl who always seemed to be up to something ever since he first met her. She kept a _pet dragon_ , for chrissake, which was _so_ illegal he couldn't even start describing it. The only reason nobody said anything is because she was just a girl with a dragon on a Dragon Sanctuary, he supposed.   
So, when he opened the door to her room to see absolutely nothing out of the ordinary except for Agatha looking down the broken window (without any visible cuts, thankfully), Tim was unnerved to say the least. There was something profoundly wrong with her seeming so... Normal.   
Like she was trying very hard to be.   
_Huh_.  
He didn't deign her a word before completely and thoroughly scanning her room from the bottom to the top, then looking at her, then scanning again. Tidy bed, tidy desk, all of her gigantic collection of brooms in place...   
And the reading corner, with all of her books, a comfortable armchair and an elegant lamp.   
Except there was no lamp.   
Okay, so there was that. What did it _mean_?   
Agatha cleared her throat loudly, the absolute brat, and in the most condescending tone of voice possible said "You're supposed to _knock_ before you come barging in."  
"Don't you even _start_ with the sass, Aggie. I heard the glass breaking and your lamp is nowhere. Tell me what happened."  
Guilt flashed in her icy blue eyes for a mere second before disappearing behind a poker face. She pointed at her wand, sitting suspiciously innocuously on her nightstand.   
"I tried doing a levitation spell. Sent my lamp flying instead. Guess I have to go to Hogwarts before trying that one again, right?"  
"Riight." Tim frowned, squinting his eyes. "Though that's a very simple enchantment. You've done harder spells before."   
There. That obvious face. Wide eyed and a little pale, like a deer caught in headlights.   
"I thought you trusted me, Aggie", he said firmly, feigning underlaying hurt. The results were instantaneous.   
"I do!", she protested, but went quiet before outing herself. Still, the guilt was obvious.  
"Clearly you don't, otherwise you wouldn't lie to me like that."  
Accompanied by a disappointed look for the finishing touches, of course.  
She bit her lip and looked meaningfully at the still ajar door. He quickly turned to close it, and when he looked back, Agatha was crawling beneath the bed, reaching for something.   
She pulled out what could only be described as a frankesteinian abomination crossover between an owl and a Draconic Hummingbird.  
God almighty, what the fuck. Agatha, _what the fuck_.  
"I know", she said. Not _sheepishly_ , no, Agatha had _never_ been embarrassed over her actions. It came close, though. "It isn't good. In my defence---"  
"Oh no", he cut her off, still between shocked and exasperated. "You don't get to defend yourself. Agatha, what did you _do_ to the poor dragon? Is that... _Cannelle?_ "  
She cradled what Tim could only assume was Cannelle protectively against her chest, rubbing his neck soothingly. Tim looked around once more.  
Agatha had been to the Diagon Alley two days before to purchase school materials and a magical companion. Despite that, there was no frog, rat, cat or owl in her room.   
Suddenly it clicked.  
"You were planning to _smuggle a transfigured dragon into Hogwarts?!_ "  
His voice cracked comically. Agatha didn't confirm nor deny it, staring at the floor intensely as a dark red blush crept all the way down to her shoulders. She silently grabbed her wand and murmured the reversing spell, not looking Tim in the eye while Cannelle turned back to his tiny and featherless dragon form.  
She _so_ was.  
Tim rushed to reign himself over. As the adult one in the situation, he had to keep his cool and try to understand just what was happening.   
Despite it being crazy. So crazy. And illegal. _And_ dangerous, and probably enough to win her the legendary Hogwarts first day expulsion record and the end of her academical future.   
The brewing headache from before struck him like lightening. The throbbing didn't add to the unpleasant situation in the least, but he decidedly ignored in favour of walking up to her bed and sitting on it. He then sighed, something he'd been doing a lot today, and patted the spot beside him. Aggie promptly sat down, the traumatized dragon still in her arms, but said nothing.   
She knew she was in the wrong, and that there was no way to turn this situation to her favour.   
"At least you remember the general reverse transfiguration spell", Tim said. She grinned, that 'of-course' grin he regretted to this day to have passed on to her. "Still. What were you _thinking_ , Ags? You can't just... Take a dragon to Hogwarts. I thought you had talked to Mary Ann about where you would keep Cannelle when you were away, even."  
Agatha scoffed disdainfully, the same way her mother used to do.   
"I didn't. Mary Ann doesn't know jack about taking care of Cannelle."  
"Then ask Doug to care for him. He'll be over the Moon."  
"Thought of that, but no can do. You know Cannelle doesn't like men." She petted him, letting the dragon nibble on her fingers. "It's why I didn't ask you either. He can only stand you for so long before getting cranky. Besides, if he went with me as an owl, I would get to take care of him, plus he'd carry my mail. Win-win."  
Okay, fair point. Tim hadn't actually expected Aggie to have any reason other than 'because I want to', but that still didn't overwrite the fact that, despite Dumbledore being weirdly lenient and forgiving, the headmaster probably wouldn't overlook a first year smuggling a dangerous, illegal magical creature to Hogwarts. As her  _pet_.  
"Ags", he started, "even if you could pass that Frankenstein abomination for an owl and smuggle it into Hogwarts, Cannelle's still a dragon. He would behave like one, too. Don't you think anyone would notice how he would act?"  
"I trained him, though", she said, completely ignoring the 'Frankenstein abomination' part. "Have been for an entire month, and I still got two more to go before September first. Look" she hissed at Cannelle, and that was all it took for him to stay upright, wings closed around his body and eyes open wide. He turned his head in an almost 180 degree curve.  
It was disturbingly similar to the way Tim's own owl, Wyatt, acted. Which was... Impressive, actually.   
Which meant the only thing missing from the equation was the actual complete transformation.  
How long had she been _planning_ this?   
Tim wasn't sure he wanted to know. There were some things better left undiscovered.  
"You still can't pass that thing as an owl though."  
Agatha had a defiant look on her face, smug as only her could be.   
"I will.", she said, and it sounded like a promise. "Sooner or later that spell will have to work."  
Oh boy, the memories. The accursed memories. She sounded so much like him when he was a stupid brat with rebellious tendencies.   
Not that he could deny the appeal... It had been very thrilling, dodging the rules in a smart way. Still was. And getting away with it? _Even better_.  
But he wasn't supposed to encourage her. She didn't even know the right spell, and though she was a bright kid, he doubted she'd get it right on her own.  
Unless, let's say, someone were to anonymously lend a helping hand, maybe?  
I'm sorry, did he say he was the adult in the situation? He clearly wasn't. Because, right now, smuggling a dragon into Hogwarts actually seemed like a tempting idea.  
He wasn't going to do that. It'd be stupid. She could get caught and that would probably cost him his job.  
 _And_ reputation.  
... Though he supposed that anonymous helping hand might.  
"What spell were you using?", he asked, nonchalantly. Faking as much disinterest as he could. "Some sort of modified _Draconifors_?"  
Her eyes were questioning, but she didn't ask a thing.  
"Not really. _Draconifors_ only work on inanimate objects, right? I was using some variations of a Live Transfiguration spell, but I only got to try a few. I was about to do the next and Cannelle dodged, so I accidentally hit the lamp. It flew out of the window."  
Oh. So _that's_ what happened.  
They would have to go lamp hunting later, it seemed.


	3. Lamp Hunting

"So you _created_ a Transfiguration spell?"  
Agatha's smile was wider than humanly possible. She was also fidgeting ever since Tim said (implicitly, of course) that he'd help her out on her dragon smuggling shenanigans, but he supposed that, as an eleven-year-old child, having someone older than you help doing something illegal was thrilling.  
"I tried to juggle a little of Latin to make something like 'dragon-turns-owl', but it didn't really work as expected. I keep getting that thing you saw."  
Poor Cannelle. Such a young dragon, been through so much already.  
(Though Tim supposed he was partially impressed and very terrified of what a young witch not even in school had already managed out with spells so far. The possibilities were frightfully endless.)  
"How does it go?"  
Agatha made a point in laying her wand in the bed, out of reach. Just to be sure.  
" _Conversus et draco noctua_ "  
Ah. _There_ was the problem.  
Grammar.  
"I see. So, Aggie, the thing is- your Latin is very good, but your wording here would mean something like 'turn-dragon-owl', not 'turn-dragon-into-owl'. You know, you actually chose the difficult path with this one. You don't have to create a new spell, just modify one.  _Draconifors_  is a good example. Means something like 'dragon uniform', so a non-living object can be turned into a dragon. The Latin word for owl is  _noctua_ , so what you'll want to do is change ' _draco_ ' for ' _noctua_ ' and then add ' _vitae_ ', for 'living', in the end, so that the transfiguration works in animate creatures. Like so" he pointed his wand at Cannelle before the dragon could react and dodge again. " _Noctuanifors vitae!_ "  
With a shining light, Cannelle suddenly turned into an eastern screech owl, much to its confusion. The draconid was clearly not expecting any of their attempts to work anymore.  
Agatha's eyes were wide, her face painted with the awe she always had on whenever he performed that level of magic. Tim couldn't help feeling a little proud.  
"It looks _just_ like Wyatt", she finally said. Impressed.  
"Well yes, I suppose. When the spell is performed correctly, you can Transfigure the object in question in whatever bird you're subconsciously thinking of, so mine would be my owl."  
She was looking at him funny. "Have you ever done that before? Turned stuff into owls?"  
Other, less thrilling memories of his rebellious youth flooded his mind, and Tim coughed awkwardly, holding his wand so strongly his knuckles turned wax white.  
"No, I reckon I haven't", he said through his gritted teeth. Falling back to his accent and completely giving himself out. _Damnit_.  
Her smile turned into a teasing grin.  
"You're doing the wand thing again."  
He ruffled her platinum hair, with a little more strength than strongly necessary.  
"Quiet, ya runt! You want me to teach you the damned spell or not?"  
She giggled, the absolute _brat_. Tim elected to ignore it, huffing and pointing his wand at Cannelle once again.  
" _Transfiguratio revertere!_ "   
And, easy as that, the very confused owl was back to dragon.  
The giggling stopped immediately as Agatha's focus and attention were caught. She leaned in closer, eagerly eying the dragon.  
"It's really that simple?"  
"Yeah, you were being stupid."  
The fake glare she sent him through her icy blue eyes was adorably hilarious and almost made him forget he had been angry and/or annoyed that day at all. Almost.  
Charlie was still getting his comeuppance. Bloody _cunt_.  
Oh yeah. _Charlie_. He had to meet the tosser and discuss Peepers' alleged hate for flowery scents, huh.  
He got up and grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil from Agatha's nightstand, writing the spell down and handing it to her.  
"Lock the door and practice this one. I'll get back to you later so we can train this together, yeah? Charlie's waiting for me."  
The way Agatha lit up at the mere mention of Charlie was a bit annoying. She just nodded enthusiastically, though, which was better than any comments on how lucky Tim was. Those were _insufferable_.  
Before anything else, he headed for her broken window. A simple flick of his wand and the glass stood solid and untarnished, like nothing had ever happened. Then, and just then, he headed toward the door.  
He remembered something at the last minute and ducked his head into her room again.  
"Also, the window repairing spell is ' _Speculo Reparo_ ', ok? Just in case of any... Incidents."  
"Ah, got it", she said, looking at the window. Then, she smiled. "Tim?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Thank you. For the spells. And for not ratting me out."  
"Don't thank me just yet. You owe me one", Tim replied jokingly, smiling.  
And, with that, he made his gracious exit.  
_Nailed it_.

  
As it turns out, Peepers had no trouble with flowery scents at all. Matter of fact, she just seconded Tim's opinion that Charlie was a loudmouth cunt.  
His indignation at being scoffed by the Bloodhound Drake pleased Tim beyond the qualms of probability in the best way. The pure scorn with which Peepers hissed at the redhead whenever he opened his mouth to try and speak? Fantastic. Tim could only grin in petty satisfaction- mouth closed, of course. He wouldn't want Peepers to think the display of teeth was a threat while he bathed her. And, by the end of it all, Charlie was frustrated, Peepers smelled like peonies and Tim's humour was through the roof. And the day could've ended there, on that perfect note.  
But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flying dragon-lamp.  
So, instead, he went for a mid noon flight.  
The things he did for Agatha... Really.  
_Lamp hunting. Ugh.  
_ 


End file.
